


it's only the first.

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, abstract bullshit, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4747478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He was not afraid the night before that expedition. </em>
</p>
<p><em>And now you find that neither were you—but had been drowning in rushing rivers of seafoam and green staring back, choking on air and asphyxiating on words found caught in the both of your throats. </em><br/>--<br/>canonverse ereri week: day 1, first impressions</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. levi

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first portion of this from levi's 2nd person pov, the second portion will be up later today yoooo. I hope you enjoy :))

It is difficult for you to recall at this point in life, but you find yourself remembering—at least attempting to—the first time of knowledge that your eyes had crossed, dousing your being in the brightest of blue-green fire. 

But in recognition, or fear? You cannot be sure.

Nor could you have known he'd be the only to stir the stagnant atmosphere within your lungs—cracking lightning and roaring thunder pounding within your chest. 

How could you? 

He'd been just a boy—and you?—a man, with no purpose other than to kill for a cause that you were no longer sure you'd even believed in. 

It was merely a first impression, after all. 

And first impressions often lie.

* * *

You were so wrong. 

And he was so much more than a boy. 

He was the overwhelming downpour, yet other times seemed as the sun peering from spaces between clouds overhead. Not a storm—but a beginning, the scent of petrichor and life flowing outward from eyes like spring greened leaves, flashing golden in the pale light of sunrise. 

He was the wildfire that burned with the fuel of rage—scorching black the once empty landscape throughout your numbed chest, leaving trails of ash behind him. 

Eren Jaeger had no idea. 

—of the impact, he'd always made on you.

Without him, you were your own cloudburst. 

And the breathing atmosphere fell still once more—beneath the pressure of heavy rain and cracking ribs.

* * *

The initial impression of the man you'd always known best may have been wrong, though—for you find yourself collapsing easily from the weight of him. 

Do you not know the one whose body you occupy? 

It is a possibility, as you feel the pressure across your lungs increasing—held down by the gravity of the situation, and the weight of the burnt, peeling skin from where he'd come in contact.

The browned fingertips caressing your wrist had been no accident.

And the scorch mark left within your mind was not, either—as much as you wished for it to be.

Your first impression of this feeling, had been an indescribable fear.

* * *

He was not afraid the night before that expedition. 

And now you find that neither were you—but had been drowning in rushing rivers of seafoam and green staring back, choking on air and asphyxiating on words found caught in the both of your throats. 

If there were a truer way to die, let the walls name it. 

You didn't believe that they could, as his shaking hand came to rest atop your shoulder—caressing the fabric there too warmly to be friendly, yet too distanced to be intimate. 

It just was. 

And when Eren Jaeger smiled at you, the corners of his lips turning up oh-so minutely—you could breathe beneath the surface of any ocean, if only he'd kept looking at you like that. 

Your impression of the night was lovely. 

As he had been, when speaking with anything but words.

* * *

On his nineteenth birthday, he held you to the anchor of a broadened chest without fear. 

Though you were afraid, as the ocean crashed within your ribcage—a pulse that seemed to push from your chest. 

This was intimacy. The cracked lines of his beaten, browned palms dragging slowly along the infinite trails atop your back—allowing them to stay there.

It was also something akin to love, you'd think. 

And he was pulling you beneath the surface once more—yet you found that the burning within your lungs as you drowned in the arms of a man who'd come to know the precipice that you'd fallen from, the heights in which your nightmares resided—well, that was entirely welcome. 

_"Why would you want to do this?"_

_"Why wouldn't I?"_

You supposed it was good enough. 

It hadn't quite been love. 

Yet you couldn't deny that it was.


	2. eren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol I changed my mind I'm lazy as hell and putting them both up

You remember the first time you'd seen the man of all impossible stories—could remember the tingling in your fingers, the dull throb within your chest as eyes widened in recognition. 

Your heart came to be a broken metronome—erratic in no pace.

And he had looked back upon you with all passivity of the eye immersed within a hurricane—though, you were stuck within the whiplash, dark storms of mercurial grey. 

You hadn't wished to move anyways. 

You were in love with his legend—as you'd come to love him.

First impressions often ring true.

* * *

Your initial impression of the boy—no, _man now_ —that you'd always known undoubtedly continued in the most honest of fashions. 

For you knew the one whose body you did occupy—were not subject to the mere sense of existentialism upon thinking of long fingers carding through your hair with the utmost delicacy. 

He was not a storm, though—as much as you'd wish to compare him so. 

—was every inadequacy that ached within your chest, tingling till it burned out in the light of an oxygen deprived candle in the early morning's hours, as you longed for a nearly intimate caress that would never come—the times in which no light spread across the purple sky. 

Yet he was hints of that aforementioned intimacy, in touches to fabric—denying pale skin and the stun of glinting silver from crossing you. 

And oh, how you longed for them to. 

It was a blooming thing—born from the cracks of admiration within your chest. 

And it was surely love.

* * *

You felt that to be afraid was worthless—despite the tact that may have lacked in voice.

Knowing the man whose wrist you'd held for mere seconds—comprehending the crashing within his ribcage, as he fell from summits much higher than any man could endure. 

You would be content. 

In love, and out. 

Proving that, the nightfall before an expedition—your palm came to brush across the heavy fabric atop his shoulder, gripping the jacket there with a sure urgency that could only be displaced with the slightest curling of pale pink lips. 

Sunrise.

He was beautiful—and you were so in love.

* * *

You were nineteen the first instance you'd held the Captain to you with no regard for the consequence—nineteen, and naïve. 

But young and blazing. 

And he was surely the opposite—countering your intensity in metallic, chilled demeanor and mellow. Yet it was gratifying in the most basic of ways—contact a scorching caress, melting the frost grown across the captain's disposition. 

_"Why would you want to do this?"_

_"Why wouldn't I?"_

It was good enough.

And as the stems of blooming wildflowers wrapped themselves around your ribcage—

—you knew it was love.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this like a month ago I'm sorry


End file.
